


Just Don't Leave

by thesaroscycle



Series: True Love Waits [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Happy Ending, Holidays, Multi, both for reasons, honey is bee's cat, i did NOT forget kevin this time but he is only mentioned so, teen rating is for canon basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 03:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17236325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaroscycle/pseuds/thesaroscycle
Summary: Neil tried to ignore it. He really, really did. He was just trying to get to the Foxhole alley as soon as he could, sit in their heating and order something warm before he went to sleep where ever he could find for the night. Everyone else was ignoring the sound too, though, and he couldn’t help but wonder what had people looking away from something crying like that the same way they looked from him when he walked by. What he didn’t expect to see was a cat.





	Just Don't Leave

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be posted around christmas but! it did not get done rip  
> this is a sequel/literally the same fic from a different POV of I'm Just Killing Time, but I don't think you have to read that before you read this.   
> A brief warning for panic attacks, sickness, and animals getting hurt but getting better!!  
> its also,,,, real ooc. i cannot write neil to save my life is2g. I am not as proud of this as i was the other but i am tired of looking at the document, so  
> also: yes,, , i did name this after a radiohead song. its a bop tho   
> last note!!! the numbers don't match up to the other fic. it is not a mistake, i just switched bits around. this is also considerably shorter than the other one.  
> Enjoy!!!!

 1.

Neil was stuck. Not only literally, since he didn’t have enough money for a bus ticket out of town, but figuratively, too. He knew he wouldn’t last much longer if he continued the way he was. The runaway life he and his mother had grown accustomed to had nearly killed her in the end, and was close to getting him, too. He knew he was safe, the person causing him to run long dead and buried, but he couldn’t stop, no matter how much he tried to tell himself it was useless. His father was dead, and the butcher’s men were still around but scattered and searched for by his uncle. He had nothing to hide from, nothing to run from. He had nothing to run _to,_ either, but he never had anyway.

He didn’t know why it had taken him so long to realize how exhausting it was to run like he was. He couldn’t decide whether it was the anniversary of the whole mess passing, or if it had been the man on the bus. He’d simply mentioned how tired Neil looked, and told him to get home quick. After that, Neil could _not_ stop thinking about it. It was just a comment someone had made on his way to the library, but his brain couldn’t stop going over the interaction, despite his insistence that it was nothing. He might’ve looked tired, enough to warrant a stranger making a comment on it, but he couldn’t have looked too awful.

Neil hadn’t looked at himself in a very long time, but that night he did, feeling calm (or maybe numb) enough to see his face and not panic. He didn’t think he looked much different since the last time he’d seen himself; he just looked—older. That thought was nearly jarring; he’d always been told he looked younger than he was, something his father had never appreciated. Now, though, there were lines under his eyes that hadn’t been there before, bruises that looked dark enough to be the consequence of violence, a pinched and hollow look to his face that he didn’t remember there being. He could see every sleepless night and the days went without food written on the lines on his face. His hair was long and tangled, the ends darker than the rest from the last time he’d had the energy to dye it. He couldn’t grow facial hair, and for once rather than being something he hated he considered it a blessing, since he wouldn’t have had the chance to shave anyway.  He looked like he was at the end of his rope, and hell if that wasn’t accurate. He didn’t bother looking under his shirt—he knew what he would see there. Scars did not change or fade, even after so many years, stretched over sharp ribs and lean muscle.

He started feeling it after that—the weight, the heaviness, the exhaustion. Feeling like that made him more tired, which became an endless cycle of _what do I have the energy for today?_ He’d spent the first 23 years of his life on edge and ready to run, and now it felt like all that vigilance was catching up to him. He felt his mother grip his arm any time he even thought about stopping; he heard his father whispering every night he lay down to try to sleep.

Neil was stuck, and tired, and really just wanted to curl up somewhere no one would come to look for him again.

 

 

2.

Neil did not talk to anyone. Not as a rule, but because no one talked to him—it turned out it was easy to be invisible when you made people uncomfortable. No one looked at him because he was living on the streets, and that’s really how he preferred it. It eased his anxiety about being so open where he slept at night, or when he walked along alleys and across streets. Everyone turned a blind eye to him as long as he wasn’t breaking the law or bothering someone, and that was more than he could wish for.

There were some kickbacks, however, the biggest one being the weather. It was still early in spring, but that just meant colder nights and more rainstorms. It was harder to find shelter nowadays, another problem with him staying outside. He seemed to get sick more often, mostly runny noses and hacking coughs, but the thing he was dealing with now felt much worse than that.

He was huddled in an alley he frequented, mostly for the food left practically fresh, and the overhang from the roof that shielded him from the worst storms. Now that he was next to it though, he couldn’t help thinking about going inside—warming up, eating a real meal, sitting down and at least attempt to relax. The money in his pocket seemed to weigh him down; he couldn’t remember the last time he’d really gone in somewhere. He couldn’t help wanting to, even if it was just for a second.

Fate had seemed to decide for him when someone opened the back door into the alley, propping the door open behind him with a chair and carrying out a plastic bag of trash. He was an older man, salt-and-pepper hair and beard and tribal tattoos crawling up his forearms. He didn’t look surprised to see him out there, instead just threw the bag into the dumpster and headed back to the door. He stopped before going in though, and turned to face Neil.

“You feel like coming inside today?” Was all he said, gruff and sarcastic, but it somehow eased Neil’s fears. He didn’t answer immediately, just staring as the man closed the door with a huff. He caught the man’s relieved look when he walked through the front door and introduced himself as Wymack, or coach, or David, or anything that wasn’t ‘mister’ or ‘sir’, because that made him feel older than he was.

Neil Josten introduced himself for the first time getting a black coffee at the Foxhole.

 

 

3.

Neil tried to ignore it. He really, really did. He was just trying to get to the Foxhole alley as soon as he could, sit in their heating and order something warm before he went to sleep where ever he could find for the night. Everyone else was ignoring the sound too, though, and he couldn’t help but wonder what had people looking away from something crying like that the same way they looked from him when he walked by.

What he _didn’t_ expect to see was a cat. It was a honey brown, a collar with no tag on their neck and leg that looked all kinds of broken. The cat had quieted as soon as it realized someone was in the alley with them, but as he drew closer he heard it purring, and when he reached a hand out for them to sniff they butted their head against it.

Something in Neil shattered a little at the sight, something so small and soft and hurt still purring and trying to call for help. He’d never been good with animals; he’d never been allowed one at home, and running the way he did never made much time to care for something other than himself. But, he thought as he wrapped the cat carefully in his coat and huddled them close to his chest, he could learn to love having something like this; hell, he was already infatuated with the thing.

He asked around where the nearest vet was and was led to a little place only a few blocks away. The place was almost empty when he came in, and the cat was swept away almost immediately while Neil was sat down so they could ask some questions. In the middle of describing where he’d found them a nurse came out to declare the cat a girl, and that she was chipped so they could call the owners to pick her up when they were done fixing her leg. They asked for a way to contact him to pass on to her owners, but he explained he didn’t have a phone and quickly left, not wanting to be there when whoever owned the cat showed up.

It was later than he expected when he walked out. A part of him was upset that he didn’t get to see her before she went back into surgery, but he also supposed that if he had he wouldn’t have been able to leave without her. As he lay in whatever corner he was huddled up in for the night, he hoped the cat was somewhere warm and comfortable, and let himself dream of a future where he was the same.

 

 

4.

Summer was a blurry haze of heat and dehydration; he still wandered the same as he always did, but somehow it was worse than before. He couldn’t figure out what it was, but somewhere in between meeting Wymack and his wife and saving the cat he realized he wanted something more. He didn’t know what, exactly, but it wasn’t this: walking from one end of the city to the other, trying to justify using the money he had to get out of the city and start over somewhere else, clutching his bag like it still held his whole life even though there was next to nothing inside it.

He realized he didn’t have to live like he was; he didn’t need to be alone, he didn’t need to run, he didn’t need to hide like he’d been doing since he’d been old enough to walk. He hated them for showing him something like that, a life he could only dream of having; at the same time, he couldn’t imagine living without them. He had not let himself be cared for in a very long time, and couldn’t stand that they had shown him what he’d _wanted_ for so long without realizing it, without letting himself realize it, and hadn’t shown him how to live after.

He still went, though. He made sure to make it to the Foxhole sometime before closing to buy something to drink and talk to Wymack. He left before the sun went down, and walked far enough away no one that worked there would find him sleeping outside, but it was _something._ It was more of a start than he’d had in years.

 

 

5.

Summer passes and leaves Neil feeling dizzy and disoriented, not sure how to move forward and unable to step back. More and more school kids began frequenting the Foxhole, loud and young and laughing. He nearly regretted not going to school the last few years, but then felt much better when he looked at the books they were holding and couldn’t understand a word.

September also means plunging temperatures, which leaves Neil huddling up where ever he can when it gets frigid at night. He can say with confidence he’s had worse, but it doesn’t comfort him like it used to; instead, he just feels colder.

Although he’s never talked to Wymack past polite small talk, he seems to know Neil’s living situation is not ideal. He hasn’t straight out asked if Neil wanted a job at the Foxhole, and Neil is glad—he doesn’t know how to react to that just yet. Still, he says he can ask him or Abby or any of the other employees for help anytime. At one point he even tries to give him his cell number, before Neil stutters out he doesn’t have a phone—even though he does, he just only uses it for emergencies and almost calling Uncle Stewart and hanging up before the call goes through.

It’s a mess, and Neil almost can’t stand it, except it’s—nice, he supposes, to have people to talk to. He wouldn’t say he missed it, per say, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t. So he keeps coming back, and they always tell him they’re there for him, and even if he doesn’t accept their help it still feels nice that they offer it.

 

 

6.

The first of October brought the coldest night yet, and unluckily the third night in a row Neil hasn’t managed to eat anything of substance. He doesn’t even want to think about going to Wymack or Abby, and he’s been trying not to pickpocket after he almost got caught, but he didn’t think he’d last another few days without food. He’s light-headed and stumbling, shivering from the cold and trying to ignore the raging hollow ache in his stomach. He’s walking without direction, until he realizes he’s really not and ends up at the Foxhole. He ducks into the alley in between it and a bookstore and crouches next to the dumpster, trying to warm his hands at least a little before getting away.

It’s then that the door across the alley opens. An older woman with curly silver-gray hair and pajamas on stands in the doorway, staring at him wide-eyed through thick yellow glasses, her hand on the trash bag going limp. And then her expression clears, and she starts laughing, startling Neil.

“Oh, my god,” She huffs, holding a hand to her chest. “I really need new glasses—I couldn’t tell _what_ you were in the dark.” Then she shivers, and hurries down the step and to the dumpster to throw away the bag. Neil thought that was that, until she turned to him and asked, “Why don’t you come inside and warm up? I’ve made hot chocolate, if you’d like.”

Neil was _not_ interested in the hot chocolate, but he wanted dearly to be warm, and if he needed to he could run right back out the side door. So instead of running away from her and the alley and the Foxhole, he stands and leans against the wall as his vision whites out for a moment.

When he can see again, the woman is smiling and gesturing for him to come inside. “My name is Betsy Dobson, but you can call me Bee—I’m who the store is named after. The kitchen is just through here,” she says, disappearing through another doorway as the alley door slams shut.

The kitchen is small, with another person sitting on a tiny island with a cup of cocoa. He’s also wearing pajamas and a thick pair of glasses, though his are wide-rimmed and black. His blonde hair is mussed like he runs his hands through it regularly, and his dark eyes are glaring under pale brows.

He ends up accepting a cup of cocoa anyway, sipping it slowly and melting in the warmth. After he finally finishes his cup and sets it on the counter, Bee clears her throat and sets her glasses atop her head.

“So. I don’t mean to assume anything, but going by the fact you were just sitting out in the cold rather than going home or someplace warmer, I’m going to guess you have nowhere to go currently.” Neil’s voice is lost somewhere between his throat and his lips, so he nods, his heart picking up slightly because he can see where this is going.

Bee nods back and continues, “I was thinking you might like to live here.” The world tilts a bit on him, so he grips the countertop, knuckles going white. He thought she might offer to drive him to a shelter or something, but—Neil almost misses what she says to the other boy. “As long as that’s alright with you, Andrew.”

Andrew glares a bit more at Neil before nodding at Bee, who smiles like a proud mother. She looks back at Neil, expression dimming a little. “It won’t be for free, of course. Andrew lives in the basement, so you’ll live upstairs; you’ll pay it off with your paycheck, of course, and—“ She stops as Neil starts to shake his head.

He doesn’t know _why,_ but—it seems much too good to him. Like they were trying to trick him, to trap him or something. He didn’t want to owe her anything. He told her this, and she said he wouldn’t be, since he’s paid with what’s left after the rent is taken out. He says he doesn’t want to impose, but she says they can use the help anyway—though by the blonde boy’s rolled eyes, that might be a lie. He’s run out of excuses though, and despite how much he hates getting charity, he says weakly that he will, and he’ll pay her back for everything she owes her.

She turns the proud mother smile on him, too, and he can’t help but smile back.

 

 

7.

Neil is delighted to learn the cat that he’d found had been the cat that lived at Bee’s Bookstore. He saw Honey the first morning he started working and she immediately warmed up to him, rubbing against his legs and arms and tripping him up when he tried to walk. He didn’t mind at all; he was glad to see her running around and active after not being able to walk months before.

Bee also seemed to like him, surprisingly. He enjoyed her company whenever she was in the storefront, even if it was still just small talk. He learned that she was friends with the Wymack and the employees next door—who were all ecstatic about his new job. Wymack patted him on the back (something Neil had gotten used to at some point, though he didn’t remember when) and Matt, one of the other baristas, ruffled his hair.

Out of everyone in the store, Neil knew Matt and his girlfriend Dan the best. They never asked too many questions but told him stories and jokes and tried to explain the ones he didn’t get, even though he still failed to get them every time. He was lucky they had endless patience, and a lot of time to try to teach him any pop culture he missed out on most of his life.

There was also Allison, who he liked but didn’t talk too much, and Renee, who also visited the bookstore a lot to talk to Andrew. Then Kevin, who was Wymack’s son. They mostly talked about sports and coffee, since they were the only things they seemed to have in common.

They all visited him on their breaks, to talk about shit customers and weird orders, and to show pictures they’d saved to show him since he still hadn’t given anyone his number. They even talked to Andrew, who would usually only reply sarcastically, and told him about things they thought he’d enjoy. It was an odd experience, but one he didn’t dislike.

Andrew had not spoken a word to Neil since they’d met. He’d seen him talk to Bee and Renee, so he knew he _could_ talk—he just decided not to talk to Neil. With all the glaring he did, Neil wouldn’t be surprised if he hated him, though he couldn’t figure out why.

 

 

8.

Now that Neil was finally semi-settled somewhere, he realized he really enjoyed the job he’d gotten. Reading was not a luxury they could afford on the run, but as he stocked books and organized shelves he remembered all the reading he’d done in his room in Baltimore, all the books from the school libraries he’d never checked out because he wasn’t sure when he was leaving. He’d gotten distracted many times by covers of books he’d never finished, or wanted to read because the covers and titles were interesting. Neil could understand if Andrew was annoyed with him—he’d gotten lost in chapters of books standing in the middle of aisles or, once, in the back room with Honey.

Andrew seemed to have gotten used to him at least slightly, as he now used one-word sentences to get him into gear when they were working. He also made sure he took breaks, and ate something when the others from the coffee shop didn’t remind him, since he was still prone to forget, and got to bed early enough to get up in the morning rather than read until late at night. Bee let him take books upstairs and promised to take them out of his pay, so he had a growing stack of to-be-read books on the nightstand next to his bed.

He still ran in the morning, to clear his head of anything he might’ve dreamed of or remembered at night, and to wake up enough for the day. Unfortunately, now that he was sleeping more and relatively safe, his mind had decided to bite him in the ass.

He’d woken up in such a rush one morning he didn’t realize where or _who_ he was until he was already out his door and padding down the stairs as quietly and as quickly as he could. He’d blindly grabbed his phone and keys, and despite being up and moving he still couldn’t breathe, his lungs weren’t getting enough air, the world spun a little on its head—

 And he was on the floor against the counter, gripping the items in his hands like lifelines and hoping that oxygen would return to the room soon, otherwise he’d pass out. Then he thought about dreaming again, and what he’d seen in his sleep, and how it had felt so _real,_ much more real than the past few weeks—

And then Andrew was there, sitting in front of him and looking as blank as ever. He talked him down, telling him to breathe and to ‘stop it’. Neil tried to tell him it didn’t work like that, except it seemed to anyway since he was suddenly a lot less light-headed and getting more air. After his breathing wasn’t quite so heavy, Andrew asked what he was doing. For a second he considered lying, but the word _nightmare_ was already coming out of his mouth. Neil thought he might scoff, but instead he admitted he didn’t sleep much for much the same reason most nights. Then, Andrew got him up off the floor and onto one of the kitchen chairs, and then after he’d made some tea had him sit in one of the reading chairs in the shop. Neil didn’t feel like running, so instead sat and read with Andrew until Bee came to open the shop.

 

 

9.

One morning a few weeks after the morning with Andrew, many things happened at once: the door opened very early and very violently, the bell nearly ringing off its hook, as a very loud man walked in yelling for Andrew. Neil flinched so hard his shoulders hurt, then shouted back at the man as Honey made a run for the door, which had been left open as well as the gate. The loud man grabbed Honey and kicked closed the gate and door, apologizing to Bee when she came out of the back to ask what had just happened.

Andrew walked up to him with a glare that seemed to deepen when the man wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Then he got a hug out of Bee, and after they were introduced, went to hug Neil too, who reciprocated if only because he still had no idea what was happening. Another man came in a few minutes later and apologized before trying to hug Andrew too, and Neil already wanted to go back to bed.

After Andrew had shoved the two men down the stairs to sleep off the jetlag, Andrew fully explained what was happening. Apparently he had a cousin and his husband—Nicky and Erik—who were from Germany and were visiting for the holidays, as well as a twin who would show up later with his wife. Neil didn’t have time to be think about that all the way—someone who looked just like Andrew, but a doctor with a wife—before Andrew was telling him about his own plans.

“I’m going to Bee’s with them, and I’ll take Honey with me, so you won’t have to take care of her.” Neil didn’t understand that last bit. He didn’t know where Andrew thought he was going, and wished they’d let him keep Honey with him while they were gone. He didn’t really know if he could ask, though.

Nicky and his husband hung around for a few hours the next day before agreeing to meet Andrew and Bee at her house later that night. Neil helped them close up early and returned their wishes for a happy Thanksgiving before locking the door behind them and heading up to his room.

 

 

10.

It was two am the morning after Thanksgiving, and Neil was out wandering in the streets. He’d woken up in another panic, made sure he grabbed his keys and locked the door behind him, and then ran like he was being followed around every block he knew.

By the time he stopped, he was on the outskirts of the city, near the houses he squatted in for a while and the bridge he slept under when he was still attempting to hide from Wymack. It was at least an hour’s walk away from the bookstore, so Neil began his long trek back wishing he’d had the mind to bring his coat.

The world was quiet that early, silent and dark with too much light pollution to see hardly any stars. Even with the cold and the dark, Neil took his time walking home; he could appreciate the silence even through his shivers and chattering teeth.

 

 

11.

Neil understood, on some level, he’d gotten himself sick. The thought was quick to float away though, just like everything else seemed to be. He was in his own bed, maybe, or in a hotel somewhere, but his mom was nowhere in sight, so maybe Baltimore? It was dark out the windows at one point, but he blinked at it was morning and someone was pounding on the door and Neil was everything at once, every person he’d ever been rolling out of bed and grabbing his gun from under his pillow.

Only—he wasn’t them, and his fever made him really dizzy, and he didn’t have a gun but a set of keys, so really he fell out of bed, tangled in his duvet and clutching his keys so hard he thought they might break skin. He wondered who’d knocked on the door and thought maybe it was Andrew, but then remembered they were gone, so it must’ve been someone else. He didn’t worry about it much longer before he was asleep again, still on the floor and half covered in blankets.

He woke up a few more times in the day after that, either to run to retch in the toilet or to have to count the keys still in his hand and run his fingertips over the edge of them until they were memorized to help remember where he was and who he was staying.

When he woke up the last time, he’d dreamed of his father—but it was different this time. Instead of finding him, they found Andrew and Bee and Honey, and the rest of the Foxes, and had them all downstairs in Andrew’s basement, where Neil had never gone into but looked like the one in Baltimore—

And then Neil was running, falling out of bed, out the door and down the stairs as fast as his dizzy head and lethargic limbs would allow. He nearly tripped when someone met him on the stairs—for a moment he was too late, too late, his father had already gotten them and had come to get him as well—and then he recognized Andrew, hair fluffed like he’d been rolling over in his sleep and glasses slightly askew. Neil almost wanted to reach out and fix his hair, straighten his glasses, but Andrew had said something and he hadn’t heard it.

When the question registered, he started to lie out of habit, then stopped and tried to tell the truth, and then tried to say it out loud but ended up coughing into his arm for a good minute, ending in a weak apology that Andrew just raised an eyebrow at. Andrew moved him to the kitchen, handing him pills to take with a cup of warm tea to wash them down. He’d just swallowed the last pill when Andrew asked, “Is that why you didn’t come down today?”

Neil nods, not knowing how else to answer and not willing to look Andrew in the face. Then Andrew says, “You could have told us,” like it was being dragged out of him, and even if Neil had not known Andrew very long, he could hear what he didn’t say.

He didn’t know what kind of face he was making at that revelation, but Andrew didn’t like it much, given his glare and the spat out, “Don’t look at me like that.” Neil turned away to hide his smile, but Andrew caught it anyway and sighed, jumping off the counter. “Come on, let’s get you to bed. Bee is gonna be pissed you didn’t let her help when you were sick upstairs.”

Neil imagined the way Bee got when someone almost let Honey out and felt himself pale.

 

 

12.

The next three days Neil was forced back into bed multiple times after trying to come to work, despite his insistence that he was fine. Bee mostly told him to rest more so he could go back to work sooner, and came up with tea and something light to eat on her breaks. Andrew mostly glared and threatened to tie him down on his bed, while also making sure he was comfortable and even leaving Honey with him when he complain about being bored.

It only got worse once the Foxes found out, as they all started bringing gifts and medicines and their company on their lunch breaks. Even after he told them to stop and they listened—why they bought him a stack of DVDs, when he didn’t even have a TV, he didn’t know.

He realized after that that something had changed between him and Andrew. Not in a bad way—Neil was glad they hadn’t reverted back to the first few weeks of stony silence. Instead, Andrew started to be around him more. He often joined him and the Foxes on their movie nights, since he was just as offended as the rest of them about Neil’s lack of education, and was not afraid of saying so. They started sitting with each other in the morning again, his urge to run still apparent but distant when trading small truths with Andrew.

Then, he’d had a nightmare. Most of his nights were the same: either he couldn’t remember them in the morning, or they were memories of his past all blurred together into one unintelligible mess. That night, though, it was a clearer memory than he’d had in a long time.

The night he was shot was not a memory he visited frequently; he avoided his scars in the mirror any way he could, and the stretch and pull and ache of his scars were annoying, but everyday pains he’d learned to deal with, since there was nothing he could do with them anyway. He’d woken up feeling like he’d been shot again, pain lancing down his arm and up his shoulder, his arm feeling weak and useless as he fumbled with the door handle out of the room. He tripped down the stairs, nearly falling forward on his face before catching himself on the railing, and sat with a _thump_ on the last step. A few moment later, Andrew came up the stairs, squinting without his glasses and Honey following.

 

Neil told him the truth about everything, then. Not because he had to, or he felt like he should explain, but because it had been years since he’d said a word about his blood family, and he felt like if he didn’t tell someone about it he might burst. Plus, it was _Andrew—_ Neil couldn’t tell you why, but he wanted Andrew to know. It felt _right._ Andrew reciprocated, telling him about his foster homes and his family after that. It was good, to be heard and to listen and to _feel._

They finish their heart-to-heart at an hour too late to go back to bed but too early to get ready for the day, so they head down to Andrew’s room to watch Harry Potter again. Neil doesn’t know which movie it is, but he finds himself noticing Andrew much more—sitting in bed, leaning against the wall with Honey in his lap, hair fluffed and glasses set crookedly on his nose. He smiles slightly—a twitch of his lips, the crinkle around his eyes; Neil wondered when he learned how to read Andrew—and then he thinks _oh._

_Oh._

13.

Ignoring the new problem that had arisen, and the way Bee looked at them both like she knew and was happy about it, Neil decided to deal with another one of his easier problems: calling Uncle Stewart. He’d been thinking about it since he had moved in, and his conversation with Andrew made him want to have some kind of contact with his family, and if not that then at least some closure.

The call went much better than he hoped—probably because Stewart was shocked into silence for most of it. Neil explained what he’d done, and the fate of his father and his people, and how he was mostly safe; he told him about living on the streets and not wanting to call because he didn’t want to leave behind the states but thought he might make him go back, and not knowing how his mother would react to his recklessness.

Stewart, without saying a word, passed the phone to his mother, who had only said, “ _Abram,”_ before he got choked up. His mother was better and healthier and living, and implored him to come back to London to live with them, or at least to visit. There was no apology, though he hadn’t expected one, no questions of how he was doing or where he was staying. Just _come back—_ and for once, he didn’t want to.

He promised to visit sometime soon (not the holidays, since he already had plans) and said he’d call again soon before hanging up with barely a goodbye. His heart was racing, and his hands were shaking, and he thought if he could unclench his jaw his teeth might be chattering, but he felt—content. His mother was alive and across the world, and Neil was right where he wanted to be.

 

 

14.

Neil had made a very big mistake in telling Matt about his Andrew problem—mostly because suddenly it was Matt’s job as his friend, right as a human, and duty as his official guardian to get them together, but also because suddenly everyone knew except Andrew.

It was almost overwhelming, but he could tell they were trying not to be. Sadly, his friends’ definition of ‘trying not to be’ was very obviously winking at him every time he and Andrew spoke to each other and not-so-sneakily trying to talk Andrew into going out with all of them together. Plus, with Christmas and New Year fast approaching, there was a deadline on whatever they were trying to get them to do. They were all set to go shopping when Neil mentioned he was planning on going with Andrew, and suddenly it was the ultimate plan to get them both together with everyone in on it but Andrew. Dan said she’d make sure they got the day off and would invite Kevin, and both Matt and Allison volunteered their cars.

The day before they all went, Neil was up in his rooms with Matt before everyone came up from Andrew’s to choose a movie, since he had a better selection than Neil did. Matt was getting popcorn ready (apparently he couldn’t just get microwave popcorn, since it ‘just didn’t taste the same”) while Neil was setting up his kettle to boil water for tea. Neil was hoping Matt wouldn’t bring anything up, sighing when Matt starts with ‘so’.

“So, what’s your plan?” He was trying for nonchalance, but the effect was ruined by the popping from the pan.

“I don’t have one.” He rolled his eyes at Matt’s disbelieving look. “I _don’t._ There’s nothing to plan for anyway; what am I going to do, _tell_ him?”

Now Matt just looked confused. “Yes? I thought that was the plan the whole time. I thought that was why you told me in the first place, to help.”

“No, I told you because—I don’t know. I wanted to talk about it? You have Dan, so you’d know? You’re my best friend?”

“ _Really?_ You think we’re _best friends,_ Neil?” He smiled, teasing him for the time he’d asked Matt the same thing. Then he got serious again, taking the pan off the stovetop. “Really though, if you don’t want to do anything that’s fine. I think you _should,_ because you both have some _serious_ pining going on, and we’re all tired of it—“

“We do _not—“_

 _“And_ I can tell it’s bothering you. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? It’s not like he’s gonna say no.”

It was Neil’s turn to be confused. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“I mean, A: he’d be a damn fool for saying no, but B: he’s been crushing on you a lot longer than you’ve been crushing on him. I mean, it’s pretty obvious. I thought you’d noticed?”

Neil definitely had _not_ noticed. That changed—a lot of things. _Everything._ All that came out to Matt was a strangled, “Huh,” as everyone else walked through the door, arguing once again about whatever movie they were watching.

As they all settled down on his bed or on the floor, he tuned out of the movie and began planning.

 

 

15.

Neil was fucking _smashed._ At least, he thought he was; he couldn’t really tell, since he’d never really been drunk before. He decided that, if he was drunk, he could hang around Andrew the whole night; he’d make sure he wouldn’t say anything too idiotic. Everyone else was getting drunk too, but they all seemed at least a bit more stable than Neil; he cursed Allison in his head for convincing him to drink, but from everyone’s laughter he’d probably said it out loud.

Andrew seemed just as patient and immobile as he always was, sipping the drink he had quietly and giving him odd looks every now and then when he tried to say something funny. Neil took that look to be his version of amusement and kept doing it, barely noticing when everyone else had gathered around to pay attention until someone started passing out presents.

The night was a sort of blur, but he remembered driving home with Andrew, and talking to him a little afterwards, so it wasn’t a total loss.

 

 

16.

(13:48)

Mattt, i need help.

I wantto tell andrw the stuff but i dnt nkwo how

 

_(13:50)_

_A ) Dan says, legally, I’m not allowed to tell you that as your friend_

_B ) ‘The Stuff’, that’s adorable, Neil_

_C ) I hope you read these in the morning bud, because we are talking about as soon as I see you again_

_(14:05)_

_Neil?_

_Goodnight ;*_

17.

Neil stood by abstinence, the next morning. He did not like anything about hangovers at all, especially since he had a roommate who was very much _not_ hung over and had places to be that morning. It took a lot of pulling and pushing for him to get out of bed, but Andrew was as patient as ever, and they eventually got to Bee’s.

Bee was already at it when they got there, and even if they fucked a lot of the baking up, she seemed happy to be there with them both. By the end of the night, all of them were tired, wet and scratched up from an incident with Honey, a dropped bowl of pie filling and her consequently needing a bath. A movie Neil had not seen before was on TV, but he enjoyed these a bit more than others, soothing music and animated characters. By the time it’s over, the three of them are falling asleep, so they call it a night and head to their rooms.

Laying in a borrowed bed, Neil found himself thinking about the movie, the first he’d truly enjoyed, and the little family he’d made himself nearly by accident. He’d never celebrated any holidays, either at home or with his mom; it was never something they could have, something Neil hadn’t even thought to wish for, before. Now, thought, with his family in the house and friends all a text away, a home and a job and some sort of crush, he hoped it stayed.

 

 

18.

He hadn’t really listened to anything Andrew had said, even though it was probably important. He caught the last few bits—about liking him. About _like-_ liking him. _Like one of those stupid twelve year olds._ He forgot to say anything for a bit, too busy staring at his face in the fairy lights—glasses sliding down his nose, ears a bright pink, eyes melting into gold on the side illuminated by the tree and the normal green-brown on the other. He was distracted by the slight, nearly invisible freckles on his nose before he realized how absolutely panicked Andrew looked, and remembered he hadn’t actually answered.

He laughed, because he didn’t know what else to do, because what else is there to say to that other than _yes?_

“ _Fuck_ yes, Andrew. I thought you’d never ask.”

And then Andrew kissed him. And Neil kissed back. He pulled back once, to take off his glasses, and gave Neil the chance to laugh a little before his mouth was on his Neil’s again. He didn’t have much experience, but he was pretty sure it was the best Christmas he’d ever had.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!!  
> halfway through writing this one i realized i hadn't actually named the bookstore rip  
> also!! the movie they watch on christmas was a charlie brown christmas because that is my favorite and has the right Mood lol


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